Just Ask (17 page)

Sometimes I wonder how I would feel if it suddenly became common knowledge that I, Kim Peterson, am really Jamie. I'd be totally embarrassed—as in I might need to change my identity and move to an undisclosed location. Because it's not like you want your friends to know that you're some lame advice columnist—a little Miss Smarty Pants who thinks she knows everything.

But even more than that, I think I'd be sad to have to stop writing for the paper. I actually like it more than I realized I would. But without the anonymity, it would be almost impossible to continue. And as bad as I feel for lying to Natalie last week, I don't see how I could've done it any other way. Even so, I'm asking God to help preserve my anonymity—if He wants me to keep writing this column—and hopefully I won't be in a situation where I have to lie again.

I am so relieved that Matthew agreed to do the group date thing for the Harvest Dance. And he actually liked the limo idea too. Cesar went out of his way to talk to him about it, and now Matthew says that he thinks Cesar is okay too. That's interesting when you consider what a loner Matthew is. But like he said, he wants his senior year to be different.

So Natalie, Marissa, and I headed to the mall today to look for dresses. Nat wasn't too thrilled that Marissa was coming, but she managed to keep it light as we shopped around. And Marissa was surprisingly nice. She even told us about this time that she went shopping with Chloe and Allie and actually shoplifted some thongs.

“You stole something?” Natalie looked stunned.

“Yeah, it wasn't a big deal.”

Suddenly I felt concerned. “You're not still into that, are you?” I looked her right in the eyes in hope that I could tell if she was being honest or not. You never know with this girl. It's like she has this whole different set of values than Nat or me.

“Don't worry; I gave up my life of crime a long time ago.” She sighed. “But I still miss the thrill sometimes.”

“Well, don't go missing it today,” Natalie warned her.

“Don't worry. My dad's a cop, and he's made it pretty clear that I'll be in serious trouble if I ever do it again.”

“Your dad's a cop?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah, it's great,” Marissa said sarcastically. “I feel so safe.”

“I think that's cool,” said Nat.

“You would.” Marissa rolled her eyes as we went into this hot new store that Natalie swears by. Well, she doesn't actually swear. We'd barely gone through the door when Marissa spotted this shiny black dress and held it up to show us. Of course, she fell totally in love, with it. But I wasn't so sure.

I mean, it was cut so low that I thought her belly button might show, among other things. Plus, it had a slit clear to her thigh. But she insisted on trying it on, and I'll have to admit she looked pretty hot. Okay, maybe a little too hot. But she was not to be talked out of it.

“Poor Robert,” Natalie said as Marissa took her dress up to the cash register. “He won't know what hit him.”

“I doubt he'll be complaining much,” I said as I followed Nat around the store looking for dresses. Of
course, I didn't mention that Marissa's choice of dress might've been more for Cesar's benefit than Robert s. No need to get Natalie worked up about something like this now.

Besides, I'd already noticed how much Nat was really getting into this group date thing, and I'd be surprised if she wasn't already imagining that she would be the one hanging with Cesar for most of the evening. She'd already mentioned that she planned to dance with him a few times. Oh, well.

As I pawed through the racks and tried on a variety of less-than-cool dresses, Natalie soon found a dress that suited her. I wasn't surprised that she picked out something much less revealing than Marissa's little number. For one thing, Nat's mother has her standards when it comes to Natalie's wardrobe. They used to fight about clothes all the time, but I think Nat has finally began to realize that her mom isn't totally off base. And although Nat still wears T-shirts that show her midriff occasionally, she only does this when her mom's not around to say something.

Nat's dress was the same color as her eyes—kind of a robin's egg blue. It was a shimmering kind of fabric, and the cut was perfect for her height. To be honest, I think Nat will look lots prettier in her dress than Marissa playing sex goddess in hers.

Now the only problem left was me. It soon became clear that nothing in this store really seemed right for me. Whenever I found something close, it ended up being
too long or too big or both. It was one of those times when I'd give anything to be about six inches taller.

“Why don't you try that petite shop across the way,” suggested the salesgirl. I think she wanted to get rid of us.

So we wandered over to what looked more like an old lady shop to me. like the kinds of clothes a midget career woman might wear to the office. But Natalie was being a good sport, and she went straight to the counter and asked if they had anything that would work for me.

“We've got a big rack of formal dresses in the back,” the lady told us. “Some new ones just came in Yesterday.”

So, as I was flipping through the hangers and thinking that it was hopeless, Natalie pulled out a dress and held it up. Now it was seriously red—I mean, like fire-engine, stoplight, bleeding-heart, RED. “It's your size,” she said as if that meant something.

“I don't think so…” I shook my head as I frowned at the dress.

“Try it,” said Marissa. “You might be surprised.”

“But it's so—so red.”

“It's pretty,” said Nat, then she shoved the dress at me and started ushering me to the changing room.

“I'll look around and see if there's anything else out here,” called Marissa. “But my vote is for the red.”

Okay, I knew that I wouldn't want to be caught dead in this color, but I also knew that I had to try it on in order to shut those two up. Although I must admit it
seemed slightly ironic that Nat and Marissa finally agreed on something.

Feeling bright and conspicuous, I stepped out of the dressing room and limply held out my arms, waiting for their reactions.

“Wow,” said Marissa. “You look totally hot.”

“As in red hot?” I examine my reflection in the mirror on the wall. “As in where-are-my-sunglasses hot?”

“As in that dress is perfect hot,” said Natalie. “Look at that neckline and the length and everything. It's like totally made for you.”

“But its so red.”

“Yeah?” Nat was wearing her don't-argue-with-me expression now. “And what's wrong with that?”

“Yeah,” said Marissa. “What's wrong with that? It looks great.”

I looked down at the satiny fabric and sighed. “It just feels kind of sleazy to me. Kind of like something a hooker might wear.”

Okay, this only made them laugh.

“Sure, you bet,” Natalie says, as if she was the local hooker expert. “You see hookers wearing dresses just like that all the time. You must be thinking of some old fifties flick, Kim.”

“Yeah, get real,” agreed Marissa. “The last time I saw a hooker she had on shorts and a tank top.”

“Don't worry,” said Natalie. “No one will ever confuse you for a hooker, Kim. Your face is too sweet and innocent for that kind of stupidity.”

I rolled my eyes, then looked back at the very red dress. “But it just doesn't feel like me. Like I don't know if I'd be comfortable—”

Marissa grabbed my hand. “Let's see if you can dance in it.”

So we danced a little, and I have to admit the dress felt okay. I liked the way the skirt moved, and it was actually pretty comfortable.

“Come on,” urged Nat. “Just get it.”

“Yeah,” said Marissa. “Lighten up and have some fun for once.”

So I gave in and got the stupid dress. And now it's hanging in my closet like this alien from another planet— probably Mars since it's red too. And I'm sure my other clothes are in total shock. I left the tags on though. And I told my mom that I plan to take it back.

“But why?” she insists after I try it on for her. “You look beautiful, Kim. Red is a wonderful color on you. Look how beautiful it is against your skin, and it makes your eyes sparkle like jewels.”

I study my reflection in my bedroom mirror, but just can't see it. All I can see was red.

“You just need a little lipstick,” she says quickly. “Hold on a minute.” Then she heads off to her room.

Okay, now I'm getting worried. like does my mom actually think I'm going to wear some of her lipstick? Don't get me wrong, my mom is the sweetest woman I know, but her idea of dressing up is putting on pearls and red lipstick. And okay, the red lipstick might work for
her, and my dad seems to love it. But I know it'll look totally lame on me. But here she comes, not only with a tube of lipstick but several other things as well. I take in a deep breath and brace myself. At least no one else is around to witness this spectacle.

“Now just relax, Kimmy,” she tells me in the kind of soothing voice that she often used when it was time to take some nasty tasting cough syrup. “It's perfectly fine if you don't like this, but just let me have a little mommy fun, okay?”

Then she turns me away from the mirror and proceeds to apply some of her bright red lipstick and then some blush and even some eye shadow. She uses a Kleenex to fiddle with it for a bit, then turns me around to face the mirror.

To my surprise, it's not that bad. I study it for a while, then finally nod. “Yeah, that kind of works, doesn't it?”

Then as I'm standing there, I feel her slipping something cool around my neck. “And while we're at it, let's just try these too,” she says. And I can see that it's her pearl necklace.

I study my reflection for a long moment and decide that I actually look astonishingly glamorous. “I like it,” I finally tell her, and she stands behind me with this huge smile on her face.

“You look like a movie star,” she says happily.

I keep staring at myself. “It's really not bad, is it?”

“You're so beautiful, Kimmy. Cant you see it?”

I smile now. “Yeah, I guess I sort of can.”

Then she hugs me, and I'm thinking maybe my moms fashion sense isn't totally outdated after all. I tell her thanks, then sort of examine myself from a couple of angles to see if it really looks okay. like it's not just some sort of optical illusion.

“I mean, I would never want to wear this much makeup on a daily basis,” I tell her. “But for the dance…well, maybe it would be okay.”

She nods. “It'll be just fine, sweetheart.”

So it's settled. I'm keeping the dress, borrowing my mom's makeup and pearls, and she's even going to let me wear her pearl earrings, which look like little droplets. And she wants to go shoe shopping with me after church tomorrow. Of course, I doubt that she'll be much help in the shoe department, since her footwear of choice leans more toward comfortable leather with soft rubber soles. But it'll be fun anyway. And I can tell she's really looking forward to it.

As I took some time to answer some “Just Ask” letters later this afternoon, there was one in particular that really stood out. And not for the first time, it made me thankful for my parents.

Okay, how do you answer something like that? Now I don't have any idea how old this girl is, like she could be thirteen and have at least five more years of living at home with this horrible woman. Or maybe she's about to graduate and can get out of there soon. But my guess is she must at least have a couple of years before she can escape. So what do I tell her? This one is definitely going to take some divine help. So I pray first and answer later.

I'm not sure that my answer is really going to help this poor girl, but it might make her feel better to know that someone's listening and that someone cares. I don't know what I'd do if I lived in a cruddy situation like that. Thankfully, I don't.

As I walked past the family room this evening (on my way out to youth group), I saw my mom and dad sitting all relaxed in their matching recliners with their feet up, sharing a bowl of popcorn on the table between them, and just laughing over some silly old movie. And okay, they might be frumpy and a little old-fashioned, but I am so totally thankful for them.

Everyone is all jazzed about the dance this weekend. And I feel a little surprised that I'm excited too. My shoe shopping with Mom was relatively painless, since she wore out early on and then happily agreed to get me these amazing black shoes with the tallest heels I've ever worn. It's like they make me almost normal height. Of course, I didn't admit to my mom that I wasn't sure how long my feet would survive that kind of torture. But hey, it's probably worth it. “Just don't break anything,” she warned as I practiced walking around the house in them later that day.